Poisoned Honey
by Mistress Apple
Summary: An introspect into the emotional turmoil of being a vampires scion. It's short but shows a unique perspective. Reviews are welcome
1. Chapter 1

In The Beginning

In The Beginning

We used to be called gods, so they say. Fawned on by worshipers who glorified our immortality. They say we governed human lives during the day and that blood ran like a wine fountain during the night from willing devotees. Now we are a part of that society, still glorified by a few, but not gods. We like (and sometimes need) attention and power. At least the old ones do. They like to play their games of the mind and heart, until they are your whole world and you are nothing but a fraction of who you were. Especially if no one claims you. To be unclaimed means to be with out protection and plenty of willing hands to call forth pain and turn it into pleasure. Sometimes for our lifeblood and bleeding, sometimes for sex, and sometimes for both at the same time. Feelings of love and shame, guilt and pleasure whirling behind your eyes as your body says yes and your mind says stop.


	2. Chapter 2

In The Beginning

Endearment

It's a wonderful thing you feel when you realize someone loves you, or when you realized you're in love. The world is bright even when it's raining and the sun is ever shining in your heart. You look into their eyes and see the deprivation and the yearning reflected. Heart. Body. Mind. Soul. Well sometimes a soul. Those who can still love don't always have one. It's a bitter thing to not be able to see the sun. It does something to a person. Not being able to have that warmth shine on your body and heat your core. That's why they need us. We are their sunshine. We are the light that keeps them stable and a part of the world, a part of their own camarilla that revolves around them. We, their scions, are more than just a reservoir for blood and a body for the taking. We help them keep what sanity they haven't already lost. To be the one who is so cherished is an amazing feeling. The headiest alcohol; the most intoxicating drug. To be the one who cares for someone so dominate is an opportunity only a few have. There are many sources to slake a thirst, but there are few sources for just plain companionship. Because they need you, you feel important. When you see that look in their face when they're struggling with the weight of their immortality, and you know you are the only one who shares that burden; keeping them from walking in the sun, it makes you feel loved. That you are wanted and significant. It can fill you up like a cup of coffee shared with a lover.

When you see that need for a soul and the angst of not having one, it doesn't matter that you love them more than they love you. Nothing matters. All past wrongs are banished and the future is something you can't think about. Love is caring for someone when they can't care for themselves and not taking advantage of their weakness. We are a small and understated part of the camarilla, but we are there and we do what most others never could.


	3. Chapter 3

In The Beginning

Him

He took her to bed last night. She had always been my favorite. Always willing to comfort me after his savage attentions. A willing arm to hug me while I despair and a willing neck offering the blood of friendship with no strings attached. A sisterly love with out the pain of his ministrations. Giving me the heat of a fire with out the burn of hot coals. He took her to bed last night out of spite. He drained her, then he left her. She was only a human and she had been willing.

It's a hard thing to say no to him. His glib tongue spouts gold gilded compliments about how the light makes a halo out of your hair or how your dress fit your body of a young goddess. Your features are his to take to turn into pretty poetry, all the while you know he could take anything you care about and turn it into dust. He takes you for dinner, in more ways than one, and makes you want him back. He'll play on your subconscious reactions by the mixing of your pheromones. By the time he's ready for you, you'll be almost begging him for a form of physical touch. Asphyxiating your mind, the ache for the contact and the want for him shivers through you. Expensive tastes and luxury hides the empty space where a soul used to rest. What does it do to someone when their soul has left, that makes them like this? Cruelty replaces pleasure, and the needs of others leaves for their own. So when his teeth break your skin and neurotoxins enter your system; while pheromones and the endorphins tell you this is sublime, you don't think of all the people who walked from that room a shred of their former selves; wood shavings left on the ground while he works on his piece of art. He'll work on them for months until they realize he couldn't care less about them, and he is the world to them.


	4. Chapter 4

In The Beginning

Oblivion

You see the see the sharp glint of hunger as stalks his way towards you. The predatory stance of a wolf before he goes in for the kill. The need for blood pushing him, pressuring him from the inside. You know this night brings blood in the plenty. We are the willing prey to be hunted night after night.

He is a man in the desert wasteland of his own immortality, not partaking in his coercing hunger. But tonight he came upon a feast and will devour what he can until his vast appetite is slaked. Every so often he reaches this level of mindless focus on sustenance and we care for what he leaves behind. We are his servants to clean up his messes and look after our own. Pressure pushing, finding the hole in his will to leak out of and make the blood flow free. His dam of determination, letting loose after a rain forest flood. That tiny trickle from that tiny hole, blown to bits by the building force.

He takes your hand with a too seemingly soft tug. You follow, the sacrificial lamb to Hel, the goddess of the dead. No niceties, no mask to hide the brutal beast. He'll drink on your fear and let it spice his hunger. Your panic as this inhuman person lacerates your throat, delicately seasons the food of your blood and pushes him to keep drinking.

The morphine effect of neurotoxins grasps your will and wills you to relax. You lose your tenuous hold on emotions. Fear, want, desire, sanity. Their release is an avalanche you can't out run. It catches you, tosses you, up, down, and side to side. He is Chaos in human form, sucking up all the supplication you offer and extracting more. Waves of want negate the anxiety as he bites harder searching deeper and deeper into you neck for the release he wants. Endorphins and neurotoxins create vines of euphoria to creep and crawl, smothering your body. His stone mask is off showing the true demon, and you spare no attention from the sensations shivering through you.

Reality is a fresh rain sluicing your mind clean of the heady emotions. The more washed off, the more intense the fire edging it's way along your neck. You lay unmoving. No energy. No will. Acclimatizing. Your body feels weightless, yet so heavy. You can't move. All you see is blackness. Dread fills you as your eyelids are steel blinds blockading your view. His face looms over you as you try over and over to keep focus. Pain keeps blazing on your neck, intensifying each breath you take. Moving your heavy arm your fingers touch your neck, and you fight back cry. The pain of thousands of paper cuts pressing with each beat of your racing heart. Viscous liquid sticks to your hand. You turn your head at the sound of footsteps and scream at the burst of agony. The room blurs as a gossamer veil is pulled over your eyes, and your minds is dragged into the blissful darkness.

You feel the fire before you can even see. It engulfs the soft cloth of darkness surrounding you mind. Shreds of reality hit you. Agony is shooting form your neck. Indistinct voices surround you. The bright gate to Heaven shines above, then turns to gleaming ceiling lights. Your arms are leaden weights and your legs don't feel a part of you body. Panic rise, a kite on air, forcing you to sit up and join the physical existence. Fire struck from lightening rushes like a grass fire on your neck. Your scream of pain resounds through the room. Voices intensify and hands rush to restrain you. They are ghosts of color moving in front of your eyes as exhaustion makes you fall limp. Hands of balm massage your head and rub soothingly along your arms. A ghost appears in front of you and focuses into a friend. She gives you a soft kiss on the cheek that can't hide the cursory worry and relief you see before it goes to hide again. Roaming eyes let you see the surrounding circle of people centered on you like a pagan ritual in the act. The snip of scissors makes you turn your head and gasp at the fire flooding through your neck. The glimpse you get before the fog moves in is of a needle being threaded with surgical string. You fight against the swamping haze and the oppressing hands, knowing what comes next like and animal coming out from hibernation. A firecracker explodes where your neck should be. And before you can think to scream those black velvet hands smooth over your eyes and catch you as you fall into darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

In The Beginning

The Hunt

Stalk them for a while. Stalk them for a night. All according to preference. Short term, long term. One night stand, a lifetime. The difference of a king marrying for love and the young prince with one woman each idle night.

Seeing them out of the corner of your eye, or walking straight into them. Something about them stays in your mind, an ivy vine entangling you as your thought keep coming back to them; until you have to have them. Unconscious thoughts and needs guide your moves closer and closer to the night's prey; or eternities'. Hunt them slow, hunt them fast. All depends on what you want and who they are. The eternal and returning love of Hindu reincarnation or the quick bolt of lightning in the fleeting sunset.

Small talk in a summer night; casual meetings that are more than random. Getting comfortable, seeing if they are right for your taking. You are a chef choosing only the best delicacies for your table. If there is a imperfection in the selection of flesh, you move on. If you see a flawless choice, you move in closer. Get more personal. Delicate dances with words confirming the catch. Indistinct diffusion of pheromones as light as waterfalls' mist, affecting the casualness of the conversing. Your personal hot spring for their mind to help them relax into your sensual ensnarement.

They feel you understand them; that you're a person they can identify with. And sometimes you are. Sometimes they are the person who has the ideal nature that will keep you returning over and over again because you can't get enough of them. Their mien and beautiful mind an addiction worse than drugs. Or they are a tissue, used only once then discarded. All according to preference.

Some know what you're after. They know the thrill of the bite, and the dangers. Others will find out eventually. So when your blood lust approaches zenith, you orchestrate the move out of public view. In an alley for the utmost coarseness and urgency; a romantic candle lit house with appeasing food; and everything in between. You go take your prey to satiate your appetites that had been building. Seductive kisses, and impish love nips push you both to the edge of desire. You ask for the consent to bite, the permission to take their blood. With their sanction you slip your teeth smoothly into their skin. Neurotoxins rapidly flow through their blood turning the painful throb of your teeth sinking deeper into waves of delight. Many similar nuances as sex, but yet it is always so different. An exquisite red rose and an elegant tropical orchid sharing the same soil.


	6. Chapter 6

In The Beginning

Reincarnation

You'd never think the Apocalypse could happen. Well to each has their own. A night, a day, where your world is ripped to shreds of confetti that get used at a party you weren't invited to. This dawn rises on the blood of the ones who were killed. There weren't many, but each one is like a thousand cut on the souls of who survived. They were family. This camarilla was the only family some of us had. Now it was gone.

They came at us like revolutionaries bent on conquest. Their leader against ours. Unnatural strength versus unnatural strength; stalemate until on little mistake. Theirs had a sword, ours made the slip. With the single stroke of that thin bladed rapier, our leader was destroyed, beheaded in the old fashioned way. Destroy the head of the snake and the body is left with out guidance. Dead.

Power struggle. That all this was. A night was filled with chaos and fire. You might say a firecracker gone wrong. Unconscious people strewn about while those still standing take care of the dead. Power struggle. That's all this was; a senseless act to prove dominance. Two alphas never get along. They snap, they snarl, and they fight to the death. Only one can live. At least that's how it has to be with the undead. He lost this fight. And our camarilla is disbanded.

Now what? We ask ourselves. We look back on the pain from garnered from him, and all the structure he gave our lives. We look at what he did to the ones we loved. Looked at all the ones who are dead. We looked in to each other's eyes and saw the same question reflected. Are we better off with out him? One ephemeral thought grows from a sketchy idea on the paper of our minds to a dream come to life. All that tender, caring pain from all his tender mercies won't happen again.

I look at the dawn light streaming through the window. I feel my self for the first time since he came along.


	7. Final Note

Well I hope you all enjoyed it

Well I hope you all enjoyed it. I know it was short, but I think it works well that way. Any reviews would be very welcome. I might be doing fulllength story, but I'm not sure yet.

Thank you,

Mistress Apple


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